


A Handful Of Sky

by entanglednow



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-08
Updated: 2008-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Sylar's smiling in the rain, teeth running white and wet and Peter knows he's lost this round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Handful Of Sky

The rain has soaked them both and Sylar's hair is a wet collection of lines and points where Peter's is just one slick tangle.

"I'd open your brother up and read him from the inside out." Sylar pulls his thumb over the slippery wet line of Peter's mouth.

"I'd bury you," Peter says simply, and his voice is hard, and honest, ruthless in a way that doesn't sound like him at all. But Sylar grins like he expected nothing less, like he'd known exactly what Peter's reaction to that would have been.

"See...push the right button and everyone wants to see blood." The words are darkly amused.

Peter shakes his hand off, but a second later it's back, harder, surer.

"He doesn't deserve you," Sylar says simply, and this time Peter lifts a hand and physically pulls his fingers free, tightens warningly on them once before letting them go. Sylar's smiling in the rain, teeth running white and wet and Peter knows he's lost this round, knows it in every amused tilt of Sylar's head, in the way he says nothing, just stands loose limbed under the stream of water, smiling like he could crack open. But he doesn't push him away, he doesn't even try. Sylar tastes like blood against his teeth, pushing too hard and too fast.

Peter knows he should throw him off, twist out of his grip, something, anything but stand here and allow this.

One cold, rain-wet hand is dragging belt and buttons open, and it makes absolutely no sense at all.

"What are you doing?" For one long stupid second he thinks Sylar wants his clothes and he has no idea why. Then the hand flattens against the bare, dry length of his stomach, cold and painting it wet, making him gasp into the rain, before it slides down, fingers digging inside the material of his pants, shoving all the way down until it can catch the length of him, sudden and shocking.

"Pretend you're not hard for me," Sylar breathes into the wet length of his cheek.

"Oh God." Peter's fingers catch the wet material of his sleeve, not sure if he's pushing it away or holding it there, right there and Sylar's fingers are wet and cold and he's letting them, he's letting him...until Peter's own hands dig into thick, dark hair and pull, pull hard, and he's the one kissing, he's the one demanding, sharp teeth against the curve of Sylar's mouth where he's laughing and taking everything.

"I thought you'd be harder to catch." Sylar's teeth press into the edge of his jaw and Peter braces himself for blood, but they just dig gently into the skin, and then move away.

"You didn't catch me," Peter says breathlessly. "You didn't -" Sylar drags his head back down, crushes the sentence to pieces, and his mouth is too hot and Peter can't breathe, Jesus, he can't breathe. Until Sylar has him gasping into the wet line of his throat, gasping and shaking and utterly wrecked.

Sylar lets him go, leaves him against the wall, breathing through the downpour, and then he's alone and everything, _everything_ has changed.


End file.
